


Irritation

by AutisticWriter



Category: The Fast Show
Genre: Apologies, Canon Dialogue, Episode Related, Gen, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Violence, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, Past Violence, Regret, Serious Injuries, Swearing, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 11:42:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8370988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutisticWriter/pseuds/AutisticWriter
Summary: Carl Hooper finds Davy Monroe extremely annoying. Unfortunately, Davy isn't planning on leaving him alone any time soon.





	

The first time Carl saw Davy was in the green room before the next filming of _That’s Amazing!_. Carl was in a foul mood; having someone crap on your show tends to do that to you. But, despite Carl’s obviously irritated appearance, Davy didn’t seem put off of coming over and saying hello.

“Hi,” he said, holding out his hand. His voice was full of excitement, but he looked nervous, and his face was very, very red.

“’Lo,” Carl said blankly.

Reluctantly, he took Davy’s hand, and found it shaking and horribly sweaty. Davy didn’t seem to notice as Carl wiped his hand on his trousers.

“I’m so excited to be going on _That’s Amazing!_ , mate,” Davy babbled. “I’m such a big fan.”

Carl forced himself to smile. “That’s good mate. I just hope you’ve got an amazing story.”

Davy grinned, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Don’t worry. It’s amazing.”

 _It better be,_ Carl added in his head.

\---

Davy was wrong; there was no way in hell that his story was amazing. Carl was forced to stand there and listen to the idiot prattle on about his ‘Everlasting Pen’... which, after not that long, Carl learned was only a month old, and not in frequent use. He felt so wound up; this was without a doubt the worst thing he had had on this show, and that was saying a lot.

Still, once again, Davy seemed oblivious to Carl’s irritation, and carried on talking and writing with his bloody pen. And, when they discovered the pen had just run out, Carl had had enough.

“Can I borrow your pen for a second, mate?” He asked, using all his self control to keep his voice calm.

Davy handed it over, still smiling. Carl took a deep breath, and jabbed Davy in the eye with the pen. Davy cried out and stumbled backwards, covering his face. Carl couldn’t quite hide a satisfied smile.

But, even though he had just been injured by Carl, Davy still didn’t seem annoyed or frightened in the slightest. He looked up at Carl, blood oozing from a cut on his eyelid, and he was still fucking smiling.

He giggled weakly. “Ha ha, good joke, mate.”

Carl couldn’t take this anymore. He gave Davy the finger and stormed off the set.

\---

Carl’s life was thankfully Davy-free for the next two years. And when he did see him next, the circumstances were so bizarre Carl had to wonder if he was imagining it.

One day, he had a guest on _That’s Amazing!_ who gave his name as Brian Ferry. If that wasn’t strange enough, Brian had a very strange beard, and his amazing object, a loaf of bread that never goes stale (that he had only bought a couple of days ago), seemed oddly similar to...

It suddenly clicked, and Carl groaned. With a sense of dread, he reached out and tugged on ‘Brian’s’ beard. It came off, and Carl found himself staring at Davy Monroe.

“Hello, Davy,” he said wearily.

“Hello, Carl!” Davy said cheerfully, smiling at him.

“Why are you back on my show?” He said.

“I love you, Carl,” Davy said, smiling a creepy smile that made Carl feel, if possible, even more uncomfortable. “I’ve got pictures of you all over my bedroom wall.”

“Security!” Carl yelled, but that didn’t shut Davy up.

“I even love you when you’re being horrible to me, mate.”

Carl saw the security men entering the studio, and felt a surge of relief. Glaring at the smaller man, he picked up the loaf of bread and thrust it at Davy, hitting him in the stomach with it in the process. Davy didn’t seem to mind.

“Thanks for touching my bread, Carl,” he said, grinning.

As the security men approached, Carl pointed at Davy and yelled, “Get the gimp!”

Finally realising that he was in danger, Davy legged it, clutching the loaf of bread to his chest.

Carl let out a groan and buried his head in his hands. Was this bastard ever going to go away?

\---

Unfortunately for Carl, that wasn’t the last time he met Davy. Only five days after the latest incident, he bumped into Davy in the pub.

It was a bit thick of him, really, to have thought that Davy was never going to bother him again. But he didn’t, and so genuinely went into the pub thinking he would be safe there. But, obviously, he wasn’t.

Carl took a seat at the bar, and was just about to take a sip of his beer when he heard that grating voice from behind him.

“Hello, Carl!” Davy said, sounding delighted. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Carl spun his stool around and got to his feet, glad that he towered over Davy. He folded his arms across his chest, watching Davy grin at him.

“What do you want?” He snapped.

“I was just in here buying a drink when I saw you, and I was so happy and I wanted to say hi, mate. So... hi.” Davy said weakly, waggling his fingers at Carl.

“Piss off,” Carl said flatly.

Davy frowned slightly. “Pardon?”

“I said piss off, Davy!” Carl raised his voice, and noticed that most people in the pub had turned to look at him.

“But why, mate?” He said. “I mean, I love you and—”

“Fuck off!” Carl yelled. “Get away from me, you creepy little gimp!”

Davy backed away sharply, visibly shaking. Carl clenched his hands into fists, seriously ready to punch the stupid idiot in the face.

“I’m sorry, I, I, Carl, I—”

“Shut up!”

Davy flinched, but didn’t say anything.

“Now just FUCK OFF, or I’ll call the fucking police!” Carl cried.

To his amazement, Davy took a few more steps backwards, and Carl clearly saw his eyes shining and his lip wobbling like he was about to cry. But Carl didn’t give a shit. He just wanted Davy to get the hell away from him.

A few people around the pub jeered at Davy, calling him a poofer and things like that, and others echoing Carl and yelling at him to fuck off. Davy brought his hands up to his face and started rubbing at his eyes; to Carl’s horror, he realised that he was crying. And then, before Carl could say anything else, he spun around and ran out of the pub.

\---

_“A local man has been hospitalised after being attacked last night... The man has been named as thirty six year old David Munroe—”_

Carl looked up sharply, his eyes widening. That couldn’t seriously be the same person as the David Munroe he knew, could it?

_“Mr Munroe suffered severe injuries and is currently in a critical condition. The police are treating the incident as a homophobic hate crime, and are appealing for any witnesses to come forward—”_

Carl switched the TV off, dazed. He felt rather sick, and he wasn’t sure why. But he did know one thing – that Davy was the same one as the Davy he insulted and outed to everyone in the pub. And Carl couldn’t help but wonder if he might have had something to do with this.

\---

When he went into the pub, Carl found everyone in a very good mood. He had to wonder what had got everyone so excited.

“Hey, Carl, mate!” Someone yelled. “Come here!”

Carl wasn’t in the mood for a chat, but he still went over to the corner, where he found a little group of blokes looking very pleased with themselves.

“Did you hear about what happened last night, mate?” Someone else said. “Some blokes beat up that creepy poof who was annoying you yesterday. He won’t go near you in a hurry, will he?”

“Yeah, it’s great, isn’t it?” Carl said weakly, forcing himself to smile.

\---

So it was true, then. It really was his fault. Someone attacked Davy because he had been pissing off Carl.

But they didn’t understand. As much as Davy got on Carl’s nerves, he didn’t want the bastard to get hurt. And he knew he had once cut Davy’s eyelid, but he meant seriously hurt. He just couldn’t believe that someone had put Davy in hospital, and they thought that they were doing Carl a favour.

\---

Carl found Davy’s room much faster than he thought he would. Taking a deep breath, and wondering why he was doing this, he opened the door and went into the room.

A nurse was leaning over Davy, who looked dreadful. He was naked except for his underpants, so Carl could clearly see all of the damage. His face was covered in cuts and bruises, his head held at a strange angle by a thick plastic neck brace. There were dressings taped over the side of Davy’s head and over his right eye; the same eye, Carl noticed with a cramping sensation in his stomach, he had once jabbed a pen into. Carl then saw his lower left leg was in a cast, and his left hand was swollen and black-blue with bruises, his fingers looking contorted. There were large bruises scattered all over his arms, legs and chest. Dressings covered most of his exposed abdomen, and Carl wondered if he’d had surgery. Davy looked to be unconscious or asleep, because his eye was closed, and he didn’t seem to notice the nurse taking his temperature with a strange thermometer that went in his ear.

“Hello,” the nurse said, looking up and noticing that Carl was in the doorway.

“Hello,” he said weakly. “How is he?”

The nurse sighed. “Much better than when he came in. He’s stable.”

“What’s, what’s wrong with him?” Carl asked, not really wanting the answer.

She took the chart from the foot of Davy’s bed and flicked through it. “Aside from needing twenty stitches in his various gashes, he suffered three fractured ribs, three fractured fingers, a broken ankle, a broken collar bone, a broken nose and a ruptured spleen—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Carl said, holding his hands up. ”What the hell?”

“The spleen is a small organ in the abdomen. Mr Munroe’s was ruptured, so he had to have it removed. He only came out of surgery three hours ago, so, if you want to see him, I’m afraid the anaesthetic quite hasn’t worn off yet, so he may not respond to you.”

Carl felt dazed. “But... how’d his spleen rupture?”

“A very strong, blunt blow to the abdomen can rupture it.”

Carl winced. He couldn’t imagine how much that would hurt.

“Will he be all right?”

She smiled weakly. “It’s hard to say for certain, but it seems like he’ll recover fully, if no complications arise.”

“That’s good,” Carl said, finding himself smiling.

“May I ask how you know him?” The nurse asked, smiling too. “I mean, are you his...”

Carl realised what she was implying, and shook his head violently. “No, no, nothing like that! No, I just wanted to visit, you know, see how he’s doing. So... can I see him?”

“If you want, yeah.”

Carl cautiously made his way to the bed and sat down on one of the horrible plastic chairs. As he sat there, Davy’s eyelid flickered, and he opened his eye. He spotted Carl, and a smile spread across his sore face. Carl sighed; even after Carl had been so cruel to him the last time they met, Davy was still smiling.

“Carl?” he said weakly, his voice slurring.

“Yeah, mate, it’s me,” Carl said.

“But, but.... thought you hate me.”

Carl sighed. “I don’t hate you, mate. You just really get on my tits sometimes when you’re so enthusiastic and hyper and... But I don’t hate you. And I certainly didn’t want this to happen to you.”

“Thank you, mate,” Davy said, and he reached out his bruised hand and covered Carl’s hand with his own.

Carl inwardly cringed, but he didn’t pull away as Davy gave his hand a quick squeeze. Then Davy pulled his hand away and smiled weakly.

“Sorry,” Davy said. “Just... thanks so much for coming. And, and I’ll leave you alone in the future... if I annoy you... just didn’t realise... sorry.”

Carl smiled.

“Just don’t ever come on my show again, don’t chat to me if I look pissed off, don’t announce to everyone in the pub that you love me, and don’t try to ask me out, and we’ll be fine.”

Davy grinned. “That sounds great, mate.”

Carl grinned too, amazed that he had finally solved the Davy Problem.


End file.
